A N G E L PAVEMENT

Oh, my gosh!—didn't she!

"She hasn't got a bank account/' Mr. Smeeth, con-
tinued, "and apparently the girl's got through all me
money her father left her-these girls, my word, they
think we're made of money!—wait till you're a father,
Turgis, and then you'll know—and he's arranged with
us to let her have some from his account here. She
wants it at once, to-day, and we've just telephoned to
see if she'll be in, and she will—trust her!—they'll
always be in if they get something for it—so somebody
had better take it up to her, Mr, Dersingham says. I'd
make the young madam wait if I'd anything to do with
it," he went on, maddeningly, "because this is only
encouraging extravagance, upon my word it is—but Mr.
Dersingham says she'd better have it now/'

"Well, I'll take it, Mr. Smeeth." Oh, wouldn't he
just!

"All right then. You'd better clear off that work
you've got on hand, Turgis, and then when you go, you
needn't come back. If you leave here about five, you'll
get there about half-past five, and that'll leave her ample
time to put in a full evening spending it. I've got the
address here all ready/'

Got the address! If old Smeethy only knew! Turgis
could have banged his desk and sent all his advice notes
and bills of lading and railway and shipping accounts
flying about the office. He did contrive to clear up a
few odd jobs, but he did not do as much work as he
pretended to do, for it was impossible to keep his mind
crawling there, among the papers, and to prevent it from
talking a wild leap now and then. At a few minutes to
five, he cleared his desk ruthlesly, so that it looked as if
the last crumb of work had been gobbled up. "I'm ready